Memories are tricky little buggers. My
memories of first grade and earlier are in bits and pieces; scattered
and reordered in primary colored fragments of time. So it comes as no
surprise that I convinced myself as I grew up that the sinister things I
remember were all in my head.
Recurring nightmares are only just that,
right? Nightmares. I have my share and always have, as far back as I
can remember. It wasn’t until I had pushed them so far out of my mind
that they would come back to me blazing with such startling truth I
could no longer dismiss; no longer ignore the vivid color in which the
paranormal has touched my life.
They came to me in little shadow
figures, none any larger than six inches in height. They were two
dimensional and featureless creatures who resembled little men in
pointed hats with pointed shoes. When they finally spoke, I was never
able to make out what they said. Their voices were high-pitched and
tiny.
At first, they were only in my window at
night and were silent. Gradually they progressed, getting closer to my
bed as I lie awake at night. I was never touched by them, but I would
watch them swing on my solar system mobile as I lay frozen in fear. I am
not sure how old I was at the time, but I only lived in that house
until second grade. I had learned from previous experience not to run to
my mother’s room as she would only yell at me for over imagining
things. The little shadow men were not menacing, but not understanding
what they were or what they wanted unnerved me and I began pulling the
covers over my head, willing them to disappear.
They would not visit me every night and
as time went on and I grew up enough to convince myself they weren’t
real, I stopped seeing them at all.
Approximately twenty years later, I was a
single mother of two young children. My youngest child, my daughter,
was in preschool at the time. She was born with heart problems, so I’ve
always checked on her several times throughout the night. During a
midnight check in, I expected to find her sleeping. Instead, I found her
sitting up in bed, giggling and staring out the window.
“Whatcha doin’ Princess?” I asked.
“I’m watching the little men, mommy,” she said sleepily. “They’re so funny in their little hats dancing on my window sill.”
She then described them for me and my
blood ran cold. I had never told anyone about the little shadow people. I
had even revisited all of my old books, scouring them for any type of
inspiration for what I had convinced myself were nightmares and found
none. Yet my little girl was seeing exactly what I had seen so many
years before.
I told her the same thing my mother told
me so many years before, but without the outright dismissal that I knew
would only push her away from me. “It’s only a dream, love,” I told her
softly, “but when you see these funny little things, come get me ok?”
She continues to tell me about
everything. She shares everything about all of her little “imaginary
friends.” Some are just that. Some I believe to be more than that.
Others I have met before. Meanwhile, I took to the internet… Paranormal
message boards and the like. Someone somewhere must know what is
happening to my family, I foolishly thought. For months, I was obsessed.
All I found for all my trouble were ominous warnings that shadows are
almost always malevolent. I say that my search was foolish because most
of those who seemed to want to “help” only gave grim ideas about demons
following me and my children.
And they gradually moved in closer…
Stephanie W
Source: Paranormal 360
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